


burn the ashes

by thatworldinverted



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poor Life Choices, Regency, Rimming, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted
Summary: All anyone knew for certain was that Lord Hale had left London two years ago, his departure unannounced and greatly unanticipated. Many had expected an engagement between Lord Hale and the young Marquess Stilinski; instead, Hale had left for the continent, and Genim had fled London’s social scene for his own estates.





	1. Chapter 1

“I _loathe_ you,” Genim hissed, ripping at Derek’s cravat. “You are the most- the most-” His voice died on a whimper as Derek’s teeth sank into his neck. 

“For once in your life, just be silent,” Derek said. “Anyone could hear you.” 

Indeed, they were liable to be caught at any moment, nothing but the library door between themselves and the rest of Lord McCall’s ball. 

“We both know you don’t truly wish me to be quiet, Lord Hale, now do you?” Genim’s voice was a filthy, wicked reminder of times past. Derek clapped a hand over those plush lips and pushed Genim down onto the velvet reading couch. He lay there, splayed out as if it was his natural habitat, and Lord knew, maybe it was. 

“How many people have had you like this, you filthy tart?” Derek’s fingers worked at his breeches even as he asked the question. “Just how many lords have defiled you on this very piece of furniture, where anyone might see?” 

Genim smirked up at him, lust sparking in his eyes. “Oh, not just lords, Derek. Would you like to know the details? I can feel how hard you are now- would it make you even more desperate to know exactly whose hands have been on me since yours? Which men spread my thighs while you were away?”

Derek gave up on the buttons of his breeches and simply pulled them open without a care for the fine fabric. “If you can’t be quiet on your own, by god, I will find something better to do with that mouth of yours.” He crawled up Genim’s body, knees pinning his fine-boned arms to the velvet. That ridiculous, red, _wet_ mouth was already open and waiting for Derek’s cock, and oh, Derek intended to take advantage of it. But that smirk was still there, Genim staring up at Derek as if he knew how badly Derek needed it. 

His fingers wrapped around his cock, hard and already wet at the tip, and smacked it against the soft skin of Genim’s cheek. It earned him a gasp, a tiny moment of shock in those brown eyes, so he did again, cock hitting and dragging, catching against the corner of Genim’s mouth. Genim turned, mouth dropping impossibly open, and Derek’s cock was sliding into _hot_ , _wet_ , _familiar_ , _so so good_. 

Then it was suction and whimpers, long fingers digging into Derek’s hips, his hands clutching at Genim’s head, fast and hot and everything he’d wanted the two years he was away. Derek’s breath hitched, close and closer, right on the edge-

A twist and a shove, and Derek’s back hit the Persian carpet beneath the sofa. His cock was throbbing, so close to release. All he could do was stare as Genim gathered himself up to stand tall above him. 

“Go to hell, Lord Hale,” Genim said. “There is no one here who wants you.” 


	2. Chapter 2

There was plenty of gossip surrounding Lord Derek Hale. Genim was not ashamed to admit that he had spread some of the more vile rumors himself. All anyone knew for _certain_ was that Lord Hale had left London two years ago, his departure unannounced and greatly unanticipated. Many had expected an engagement between Lord Hale and the young Marquess Stilinski; instead, Hale had left for the continent, and Genim had fled London’s social scene for his own estates. 

The scandal was vicious, but the Marquess had returned the next season, looking extraordinarily well-heeled and throwing a series of delightfully scandalous parties. London’s memory was short, and soon enough tongues were wagging about other things, which was how Genim preferred it. 

Except that Lord Hale had returned to England, and whispers were already fluttering from ear to ear. God damn them.

“I must insist you stop this unpleasant brooding, or I shall be forced to take away your glass.” 

All his carefully cultivated grace forgotten in wine and frustration, Genim dropped down onto a plush divan. Head pillowed on Lord McCall’s leg, he peered upward at his companion. “Why, Lord McCall, how _do_ you do?”

There was a hint of a smile, swiftly quashed. 

“Better than you, Stilinski, for I have had quite a bit less wine.”

“Then it seems to me you must, in fact, be doing far worse.” 

McCall’s laugh escaped its bounds. “We shall see which of us feels that way in the morning.” 

“Another drink, McCall, and I may be inclined to discover precisely how you feel in the morning.” 

Genim’s head fell to the couch, the solid support of McCall’s thigh gone. He let his gaze loll to the side, watching his friend’s fist as they opened and closed. 

“Stilinski, that’s not- you know i don’t-“ 

“On the contrary, Scott,” the startling use of a given name soft and intimate, “I believe you do.”

They had never discussed it; not ever. It was not a matter to be discussed, even obliquely. They had been friends since childhood, raised on neighboring estates in the south of Cambridge. Genim had felt it when the eyes on him changed, when they looked on him with something more than brotherly love. 

His own feelings had not matured along the same lines. Some days he regretted it, that he could not find happiness in the arms of his friend. Their parents would have welcomed it, he believed. His father had, in fact, made mention of it, once, but such was not the path of Genim’s heart. 

All of this flashed through Genim’s mind as he stared at Scott’s body. Those fine trousers were beginning to strain. Uncomfortable, part of him noted, wryly. The other part of his mind… it was more pre-occupied. There was reason upon reason not to do this thing. He had not even admitted to himself what urge drove him to it. It was not too late, now, to blame the liquor and say his goodbyes for the night, and yet he knew in his heart that he was about to set himself on this path. Had been on it, possibly, since the first night he heard of Derek’s return. 

Genim rolled off the couch and ended on his knees. He stared at Scott, lip caught between his teeth. It was an expression which harder men than Scott had found impossible to resist. 

“Please, Scott,” he whispered. “I need you.” 

Scott had never been able to say no to him. He reached down and pulled Genim to his feet. Chest to chest, their eyes met and held for a moment before Scott’s lips touched Genim’s. Soft, sweet from the wine, and gentle in a way that no one had been in long, long years. He ignored the frisson of guilty tenderness in his chest and deepened the kiss, made it slick and dirty as he poured his body into it. 

He met resistance, however, when he tugged Scott towards the divan. 

“Let me take you to bed, Genim, please?” 

And who was he to argue with such a request? Genim let Scott lead him upstairs, let him peel off their clothing as if unwrapping something precious, all delicate touches and softly dropped kisses. The bed was spacious, with a silk coverlet that delighted Genim’s newly bared skin. 

Dark eyes stared down at him. 

“I never thought…”

Genim tugged Scott down into another filthy kiss. He didn’t want to know how the sentence would have ended- either way it would be bad for him and worse, most likely, for Scott. 

Flesh met flesh, driving a gasp from both of them. Genim had done this many, many times, with many different men; he wondered, idly, if Scott had even done so even once. While Scott had been privy to the salacious details of Genim’s adventures, the man only rarely shared his own.

He would make it good for Scott. He could do that much, at least. There were acts that women- at least the type of women Scott might take to bed- simply would not perform. “Roll over,” he whispered, coaxing Scott to hands and knees. It was a fine, firm arse that met his gaze, one that would be a pleasure to spread apart and devour. 

Scott moaned at the first touch of Genim’s tongue. “What- Genim, what- _ooh, god-_ Genim!” He descended quickly into an incoherency that put a smug enthusiasm into Genim’s efforts. Scott was writhing beneath him, his skin slicking, and every sobbed gasp drove Genim a little further from what lay at the depths of his mind. 

One hand followed the curve of a hip around and down, to where Scott was hard and ready to spill. Genim dragged his spit-damp palm down that hot, tight skin, rocking Scott between mouth and hand, urging him closer and closer to the edge, until a fine high cry and a hot gush of seed announced Scott’s climax. 

That quickly, Genim was on the edge himself. He pushed a still-panting Scott onto his back. This close to his release, there was only one thing Genim wanted; one image that pervaded his thoughts late at night. He crawled up Scott’s body. Settled on his heaving chest. Let his knees pin Scott’s pliant arms. 

“Close your eyes,” Genim ordered. 

He closed his own, as well, and he was almost ashamed that it wasn’t Scott’s sweet, familiar face Genim saw behind his eyelids. The same dark hair, but framing paler skin, greener eyes. It was muscled shoulders and hands that dragged Genim’s body in to place as if it was nothing. 

The same face that it always, always was. Genim jerked himself to the thought of that face beneath him, those eyes staring up at him. The face didn’t wear the enraptured expression he had glimpsed on Scott; oh, no, never. Nothing so simple as that.

It was disdain that graced those fine cheekbones and twisted full lips into a sneer, disdain and dismissal. The look was seared into Genim’s mind- he might, one day, forget the words that were said, the insults exchanged, but he would never truly be able to expunge that expression. The one that said, more clearly than any words, how little Genim had ever meant. 

Such was the expression that drove Genim on and over, until he came in a filthy spill across Scott’s lips and cheeks. It wasn’t until he tumbled to the side, lax with release, that he heard the name which still echoed in the room, dropped from his mouth in a moment of weakness. 

_Derek_. 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a tumblr prompt from my darling [aweekofsaturdays](http://aweekofsaturdays.tumblr.com), and then an anon asked for more. So, you know, feel free to blame them. 
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com), and you can play too!


End file.
